


Everything left unsaid

by BooksAndDragons



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: All characters are mentioned, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Flashbacks, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mentions of Death, Post-Game, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma undealt with, neither of them are okay in the slightest but it's okay, the shipping is more of a potential outcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 05:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17995886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BooksAndDragons/pseuds/BooksAndDragons
Summary: Akira escapes from main city Tokyo after his time in Juvie, needing the time away. He expects to see nobody, for no one to see him- so when he (literally) bumps into the previously-assumed dead Goro Akechi, living in hiding, it's the chance encounter neither of them thought they'd ever get again.An hour later, with bitter, instant coffee in hand, hidden away in an apartment, they find themselves exchanging tales of the previous year, telling one another what they never could have before, what nobody else would understand.And maybe, just maybe, they can start all over again.





	Everything left unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> This is my submission piece for the Persona 5 Big Bang project! It's been a great experience, and there are so many amazing works that have come out of it, hope you all enjoy mine~
> 
> Also the hugest appreciation to the artists of this fic, Angie [link](https://twitter.com/fatal_gods) and Kubokite [link](http://kubokite.tumblr.com/), I seriously nearly screamed when I saw their art <3

The skies were dark and overcast, a deep rumbling in the distance promised a night of heavy storms and flickering lights, and yet the streets still held some stragglers. People walking down the pathways, murmuring about an oncoming storm, and the hope of getting home as soon as possible, gripping their coats tight around their bodies and casting wary glances to the clouds looming overhead.

Amid the rush of those few people, one person strolled down the street, seemingly in no particular rush. Hands in pockets, hood up, and posture carefully slouched to blend-in, the impending storm served of no threat to them. As though nothing could phase him.

From across the street, a car door is slammed shut. The bang resonates, the person flinches. Nobody notices.

_BANG_

_The overpowering scent of gunpowder invades his senses for the countless time. From where it had been kneeling at his feet, the body crumbles, falling back from the weight of the bullet, toxic yellow eyes blank and unseeing. Before it can hit the floor, the shadow dissolves into endless black specs of dust. Perhaps it’s for the better. This way, he doesn’t have to stare down at the limp body, the seeping of blood, on the floor of Mementos. At least he knows the sickening scent of decaying flesh will not haunt him for as long as he traverses the Metaverse._

_He pockets the gun and turns away._

_Loki whispers in his ear. He walks towards the exit._

The steady footfalls of his steps on the concrete fall to silence, a lonely figure stood frozen in the middle of the street, momentarily lost in recollection.

For memories that weren’t yet a year old, he could still smell the fresh gunpowder, feel the vague weightlessness of the Metaverse, as though he were still there. The heavy weight of a black helmet atop his head.

But there was no Metaverse. No personas. No list of targets he would have to eliminate in pressured time frames, then read reports of mental shutdowns and erratic behaviours with falsified interest and curiosity. Not anymore.

Christmas morning brought an end to that, the haunting app that had stayed with him for so many years- gone. As though it were never there, other apps filled its place.

He would catch himself wondering, staring at where that app had once been, trying to ignore the malcontent that having no answers would cause. He’d chosen to run away from Tokyo, to hide, he had no right to complain about not knowing what happened with the Metaverse.

It was better that way. It was easier to pretend, to suppress.

Better, to ignore those aching pangings in his chest.

Slowly, he took a deep breath, pulled at the sleeves of his hoodie, allowing himself this moment of grounding. Numbly, he was aware of the moving street, his slow pace- he’d started walking again.

Lost in his thoughts, Akechi never saw the other figure coming in the opposite direction, world lost to their own reminisce- just like Akechi.

That is, neither was aware of the other, until they crashed in the middle of the street, sending them falling to the ground in matching cries of surprise and alarm.

Akechi grunted as his knees collided with the rough pavement, items spilling from his shopping bag onto the gravel around them. Another voice rang in his ear, apologetically panicked, and somewhat familiar.

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going. Wait- I’ll get your stuff.” Still collecting himself, Akechi only nodded as he watched the other male begin to move, face hidden, grabbing the fallen goods and placing them in the nearby bag with practiced ease. Then, those hands reached for something just by him, and Akechi’s gaze caught the exposed skin.

Slim hands, marred with small calluses observable only to the trained eye- the same type of calluses left from handling weapons. His gaze trailed past those hands, and his stomach lurched at what he saw wrapped around pale wrists.

Scars. The harsh pink of healing wounds not yet silver, risen and undoubtedly soft to the touch. The same marrings one would see on a victim of police brutality, of handcuffs pulled much too tight.

Placing the final item in Akechi’s bag, the other person rose. Before he could help it, Akechi mirrored him, gaze immediately latching to the other’s features, searching desperately.

Slim frame, perfect for agility and grace, matched by pale, porcelain skin that constrasted perfectly against dark leather, against a birdlike domino mask. Dark, messy hair sat atop his head, hair which would bounce in the light, under every flip, as he dodged every attack- as free-moving as its possessor.

And finally, charcoal-grey eyes. The only ones that had ever truly _seen_ him, past his facades and his lies. Eyes which had greeted him with such warmth when he set foot in Leblanc, which glinted with the thrill of the Metaverse.

Unable to move, Akechi could only watch as the boy drew himself up from the ground, gaze finally meeting his own as the shopping bag was held, outstretched. Then the other boy froze, stark realisation reflected in those piercing eyes.

Akira Kurusu stood before him. And Akechi felt sick.

Around them, the world drew to a stand-still. The impending storm brewing overhead meant nothing, the final passersby in the street all but gone- all of it meaningless, in contrast to the person stood before them.

_The room was dark, cold. So poorly lit by a single overhanging light. Syringes littered the floor, specks of blood decorated the table, a body lay limp and empty by his right- but Akechi cared for none of that._

_Staring down at the barrel of his gun, he stared into empty, grey eyes. He stared at the boy he’d felt such a connection to, a strong symbol of hope to so many, and he threw it aside._

_The sickening thud of Akira’s falled body echoed around the small room. Deep crimson pooled from his head, reflecting the light- just like those glassy, lifeless eyes. Wide and unseeing, forever._

Bile crawled up his throat and, before he could so much as consider anything else, Akechi was stumbling back, feet threatening to trip over one another as he turned, and ran.

Everything was a blur, against his constricted chest, the laboured breathing.

The haunting smell of gunpowder.

The blood dripping from the corner of the table.

Akira’s body. Cold, dead- all because of him.

“Akechi! Akechi, _please_!”

He remembered the chilling glee as he watched the guard crumple with a single bullet between his ribs. The sadistic amusement with which he saw the cruel Kunikazu Okumura die, humiliatingly, live on camera. The sweet freedom held in the arms of Loki’s Berserk ability.

He remembered the sickening feeling of wrongness, the moment Akira Kurusu’s body hit that table. The emptiness that has followed him for _weeks_. Robin Hood’s consoling and reassuring words that he never deserved.

His feet carried him round a sharp left, into the shadows. An alley. He realised too late that it was a dead-end.

He turned on his feet, facing the entrance. Taking a deep breath, pulling at the constrictions around his chest, he waited.

The following footfalls came to a soft standstill, just before him. Shaking, Akira attempted to catch his breath, eyes sweeping Akechi’s form.

And Akechi allowed it. Biting down on his own panic, he allowed Akira this. He recognised the look in the other boy’s eye. The flash of fear, uncertainty.

His eyes trailed Akechi’s form, lingered on the same shoes he’d always worn, the new hoodie he wore to hide away. Took in the same haircut, only slightly shorter, glanced over his new glasses, prescription- unlike Akira’s own. Finally, his gaze settled, staring at Akechi’s chest, his shoulders. How they steadily rose and fell with every breath.

The realisation hit Akechi with a numbing shock. Slowly, he took one step forward.

“Akira..”

“ _Don’t_.”

The word froze him in his steps. He noted the hesitation in those eyes, the small tremor in his hands, and nodded, taking one step back. Again, Akechi waited.

The silence lay heavy in the air, broken only by the sound of their own breathing, laboured from the chase, heavy from their racing minds.

The echo of a heel cut across it. One step forward. Akira stared, mouth open to whisper two words, spoken like a precious secret, a freeing revelation.

“You’re alive…”

Akechi didn’t respond, only stepping forward to match Akira. Stomach was still in knots, his palms sweaty, but he felt his breathing regulate as he took in the sight of Akira standing there, not quite calm- but neither was he.

“And you’re...not in Tokyo.” If he didn’t feel quite so numbed in shock, he may have winced at the lackluster reply, “With the Ph- with your friends.”

Akira shrugged, a small smile on his face- existing only to reassure, the emotion painfully blank, “Just some time away.”

Akechi’s brow furrowed slightly at the careful wording, knowing exactly what that meant, having it been the same words he’d been telling himself for months, reasoning with his own decision to leave Tokyo. Akira didn’t leave for a break, he left to _escape_.

Akechi itched to know why. Why Akira Kurusu, who was always so closely followed and adored by such a vast array of people would leave them behind. Why did he look as exhausted as Akechi felt. Why did it look like he’d lost weight….

His eyes met Akira’s, and he was momentarily shocked by the burning curiosity behind those steel-grey eyes, gazing intently at him, yet hesitant. Uncertain.

There was a deep rumble heard in the distance, the bellowing of thunder. Neither of them seemed startled by the interruption.

“We should talk.”

His eyes may meet Akechi’s determinedly, but the fidgeting of Akira’s hands would fool no one.

Agreeably, Akechi nodded. “I have an apartment, it’s not far.” The offer had left his mouth before he could help himself, and yet Akechi felt no lingering regret about inviting Akira into his residence- apprehension, perhaps, but no overwhelming desire to take his words back. Odd.

Tightening his grip on the shopping bags Akechi had forgotten he’d even had, Akira nodded, taking a step to the side, allowing Akechi to move past him, and take the lead. Together, they left, not a glance back at the dingy alley behind them.

They walked in silence, broken only by the rustling of the bags, or the occasional rumble of thunder in the distance; if the pair pretended not to notice how frequently they were casting glances at one another, how often their gazes would meet, then it made the walk all the more easy for them. Not as easy, however, to ignore the thoughts swimming in their heads.

The burning questions, an uncomfortable knot of guilt coiling in their abdomen. Walking in silence was not as much a choice as it was a necessity.

Perhaps they were fortunate the streets were so barren, that there was nobody in sight to acknowledge their presence, to see them. It was fitting, in a way. Just the pair of them, the forsaken Detective Prince and the detached Phantom Thieves Leader. Alone. Together.

_I wonder why he couldn’t have met a few years earlier…._

As the sight of a familiar building neared, Akechi’s pace picked up ever so slightly, and Akira found himself following close behind, leading them both straight to the entrance. Akira didn’t get a chance to survey his surroundings, the dimly lit hallway, the out-of-order elevator, before he was rushing to follow Akechi, who had stopped halfway up a flight of stairs, waiting for him.

Their silence persisted for several more flights of stairs, and Akira was happily distracted by his thoughts by wishes that the elevator was still functioning, attempting to ignore the searing ache spreading across his thighs. Months in solitary confinement had affected his stamina more than he cared to admit.

Arriving at the next level brought a small wave of relief to Akira, noting the lack of anymore stairs. Seemingly unaffected (although his breath was carefully controlled, and notably heavier) Akechi once again took the lead, pulling out a set of keys as he did so, and headed to the end of the dim corridor.

Akira remained a pace behind, but was no less quick as Akechi held the door open for him, stepping into the pleasantly warm confinements of the apartment.

Without prompting, Akira carefully toed off his shoes, leaving them amongst the sparse other pairs lying in the entryway.

Following the clicking of a lock, Akechi stepped past, his own shoes already removed, and took the bags from Akira’s arms. For the first time since the alleyway, maroon eyes met grey with intention, and Akechi spoke.

“You can go to the living room, I’ll be there in a minute.”

Akira nodded, turning on his heels in the direction Akechi had gestured towards. He made it a few steps before, once again, Akechi spoke. This time it was softer, so much more hesitant.

“Coffee?”

Turning back, he saw Akechi hadn’t moved at all, except from the slight fidgeting of the bags, the shining uncertainty in his eyes- certainly not the Akechi he was used to seeing but, perhaps, a more honest one.

Akira offered a small smile, “The usual?”

The tension fell from Akechi’s shoulders at familiar memories, which could let them both be soothed, for even a moment, by memories of easier times, the lingering smell of coffee and curry, philosophical discussions and chess matches that could go on for hours past closing.

Offering his own smile, somewhat smaller, but no less genuine, Akechi shook his head, “I can’t promise your standard, I’ll be just a moment.”

With that he turned the corner and left, giving Akira the opportunity to move into the living room, eyes scanning the room with curiosity.

For what was clearly a cheap apartment, the room was cozy. Worn leather sofa sat by a large window pane, overlooking the street below. He hadn’t noticed it had started to rain, but judging by the harsh lashing against the windowpane, the storm had finally hit.

As Akira sank into it, he couldn’t help but gaze at the empty street, thinking of how he had wandered there just half an hour ago, mind numb and the streets unclear. The hollowness that haunted him refusing to leave, even with a change of scenery. With quiet streets and unfamiliar faces.

And now…

“I’m back.”

Akira turned away from the window, as if the sight had burnt him. Luckily, Akechi failed to notice, his own gaze hollow and distant, even as he placed one of the two coffee mugs onto the weathered, oak table, sitting opposite Akira on the sofa. He kept his own in his hand, heat billowing from the surface.

Akira nodded, reaching forward to grasp the handle of his own mug, “Thanks.”

Peering down at the murky brown liquid, the freshly-boiled heat hitting him in the face, Akira found himself uncaring of it. He longed for the familiarity, and took a sip. From the corner of his eye, he saw Akechi do the same.

It was too hot, too bitter. It scalded his tongue, the artificial flavour of instant coffee felt wrong on his taste buds, too unlike the warming, earthy coffee of Leblanc, and they both knew it.

And yet, they both drank.

Slowly, the mugs came down with a gentle ‘clink’, steam still rising from the remaining drink, which for now would be ignored.

They sat in silence, the harsh lashing of the rain on the windowpane being the only thing to break the air between them. Despite being in such a dimly-lit room, they saw one another the clearest, rain-coated windows providing their only source of light.

Akira could still taste the bitterness of the coffee on his tongue, accompanied by the dryness that came only from scalding water- but he felt none of it. Past the loud lashing of the rain and the slight shiver under his skin that shouldn’t exist in a warm apartment such as this. He stared at Akechi, heart beating in his ears, one question burning through his chest.

Slowly, he shifted, ignoring the slight choke in his voice, Akira’s gaze burned into Akechi’s:

“ _Why_?”

Spoken so soft it could be a whisper, that the rain would drown it out with minimal issue.

And yet, Akechi heard it clearer than anything else. A broken plea, he may as well have screamed.

His gaze flickered away from Kurusu’s, into somewhere so much further away, and Akira ached to know where.

He opened his mouth, about to elaborate, to ask once more, when Akechi beat him to it. Still not making eye contact, gaze fixated on his coffee mug, his voice dull, haunted.

“I was 15, that day I met _him_.”

Akira said nothing,

“After years of searching, of piecing the clues together. Obsessing over the man who ruined my life- I planned it so carefully, I knew _exactly_ how that man would meet his end, and I knew it would be retribution. That app had chosen me for a reason.”

Akechi shuddered. He remembered the coldness of that office floor, not as grandiose and large as it had been in Shido’s final reigning months, but no less organised and expensive. He remembered showing the app to Shido, how the red eye had glinted off yellow-tinged glasses.

The sickening twist of Shido’s lips when he recognised it.

“I knew he was looking into the Metaverse, and like an idiot- I’d shown him the app.”

Akira tried not to envision a small, fifteen year-old Akechi, raw from the foster system, standing so bold and brazen in Shido’s office, Metaverse app bright on his screen. Had he been shaking in fear? Did nerves bite at his insides, so vulnerable in the same way Futaba had once been around large crowds?

“He recruited me, pretended we shared a perspective.” Akechi’s voice was rising in anger now, bitter and full of anger, “I played along, arranged another meeting, it was all going perfectly.”

_Loki’s grin was wider than the last time Goro had seen the Persona, before they had encountered Shido- he seemed to radiate the same glee Akechi felt inside._

_Tall and looming over him, Loki was easily something that could be considered intimidating and yet, compared to the conniving glint in Shido’s eye, the image of his mother hanging from her own noose, the cruelty of the other foster children...Loki was a welcomed escape. His freedom._

_And soon, his revenge._

“He gave me a file, someone’s same, said all I had to do was find them in Mementos and- well…” Akechi stammered, seemingly lost for words. Akira’s heart panged in realisation for what he was about to say.

“Akechi, it’s okay, you don’t have-”

“ _Yes I do_ .” Akira had to suppress the urge to finch back at the harsh tone, surprised, “I’ve done it, you know I’ve done it, _so why can’t I say it_?”

Akira knew those words were not directed to him, he knew he had no obligation to answer them, but in the face of Akechi’s self-directed frustration, his tense frame, Akira couldn’t help it.

“Because you’re ashamed.” If possible, Akechi’s frame stiffened even more, but Akira didn’t stop, “It’s easier to ignore it, than talk about what happened. You- you don’t have to say it, but I’m not going to judge you for what happened, if you do.”

Akira knew what happened, they both knew that, and some darker part of Akechi wondered what Akira would say if he _truly_ were clueless. If he’d no idea what cruel deeds Akechi had done, would he still sit there and offer such kindness? Somehow, Akechi thought he might.

Slowly, he took a deep breath.

“He said, when- when I found her, I had to use the gun he’d given me and-” Beside him, Akechi felt Akira shift lightly, but he offered no reassuring hand, “-and shoot her.”

_Loki’s claw curled on his shoulder proudly, sturdy where his own hand was not. That hardly mattered though, not when the illusion had already been shot, disappearing in flecks of black dust._

_The smell of gunpowder had no right to be as strong as it was, and yet, the young 15 year-old found himself coughing on it, throat choking up._

_He turned to Loki, who helped him back through the portal safely, away from the black flecks and the ringing sound of a bullet being fired._

Akira didn’t say anything, not that Akechi had expected him to. He was too sickeningly good to sympathise with him about this, too unsullied by such urges to understand. How could he expect Akira Kurusu to care-

“Akechi.”

Pulled from his thoughts, Akechi turned to look in the direction of the soft voice, hesitatingly slow. He could see those normally soft features, contorted into disgusted visions of judgement, no longer interested in his story. And then he met Kurusu’s face, and all expectancies were driven from his mind.

What he saw instead, was acceptance.

“It’s okay.”

Those words, spoken so softly, with so much meaning, shattered in his chest. He felt the slight wobble in his breath, the words spilled out before he could help them.

“I didn’t know.”

He spoke in a tone barely above utterance, word shaking ever so slightly as they left his mouth, he couldn’t stop them.

“I never- I didn’t think- he never told me what the consequence would be.” A deep breath, “He never said the Metaverse had real-life consequences, a-and then she was in the newspaper a few days later.”

_Finally, his foster parent threw the paper to the side, having taken the sports section and the crosswords to do voer breakfast. That was just fine by Goro, he wasn’t too interested in anything aside from real news._

_At least, until he saw the headline on Page 4:_

_MOTHER COMMITS SUICIDE INFRONT OF YOUNG DAUGHTER_

_That word. Suicide. Normally, he read it with an accompanying memory, a burning emotion in in chest. But today, he didn’t even see it, not with the accompanying picture, and the bile he felt rising in his stomach._

_He recognised that woman._

_He shot her copy in Mementos._

_Biting on his own tongue, ignorant of the metallic taste, he forced himself to read on, to learn the name._

_In that moment, Goro knew that wasn’t a suicide._

_He was a murderer._

“I’d forced myself to read on, to learn her name….”

Akechi couldn’t do it, he couldn’t look Akira in the eyes. Not for this part.

“Wakaba Isshiki.”

He heard the sharp inhale. The soft movement of leather. Akechi wondered how far away from him Akira had leaned.

“I-I didn’t know what to do. A woman was dead, and her child alone, because of _me_.” In spite of himself, Akechi heard his own voice break. Hidden from sight, he clenched a fist, relishing in the grounding the nails digging into his skin brought.

The leather rustled again, a dip, near him.

“Akechi. Akechi, _no_ . That- it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know what would happen.” Akira’s voice was _still_ gentle, free of judgement. Akechi wasn’t sure to be relieved or irritated, Akira was too nice for his own good.

“You’re defending the actions of a killer, Kurusu.”

“I’m defending the actions of someone who didn’t know what they were doing, _Akechi_.”

Akechi shot him a scowl, unwilling to entirely face Kurusu, but still determined to get his point across.

“Well, what of the others? I knew _exactly_ what I was doing then.”

At that, Akira fell silent and before he could come up with a witty retort, Akechi continued, “Well? Am I continuing or not?”

The sofa rustled slightly from Akira’s shifting, “Fine. Just... don’t unnecessarily blame yourself again.”

Akechi scoffed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes before continuing, trying his best to keep the edge out of his voice.

He still remembered the uncaring dismissal from Shido when Akechi had demanded answers, borderline-teary from the shock, the guilt.

He remembered the painful sting of a slap, the order to get over it. The forceful way he’d handed Akechi his next target.

The small tremour in his hands when he accepted the next file. But still, he had _accepted_ it.

“I’d demanded answers, but he refused to give any, instead I got another target. And guess what, Kurusu? _I accepted it_.”

_Goro slowly took at the gun, staring down at it. He urged to throw it as far as he could, forget about the weapon which could end someone’s life so easily, and leave._

_But on the other hand, he liked the gun’s weight. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t want to throw it, not all of him, anyway._

_“Are we doing the right thing?” Goro toyed with the safe of the gun, not even bothering to turn around. It was odd how quickly he had become attached to the being that represented his soul._

_“A few meagre lives are nothing compares to our task, yes? Besides, no human is pure of heart- certainly not anybody that man affiliates with. You’re doing the World a favour, Goro. You’re saving them.”_

“It escalated from there. Loki’s specialty….Although I’m sure you know that now.” There was a heaviness to that statement, one that was followed by a small silence.

Akira could remember the Trickster God of a Persona. Powerful and sadistic, for first impressions, he remembered the crazed look in Akechi’s eye, the disaster of Desperation. How far Akechi had fallen to resort to such measures.

Akira remembered asking one of his later Personas, Thor, about Loki. He saw how the pair fit together, what they hadn’t seen of Loki, that day in battle, but instead how Akechi matched his cunning and manipulation in everyday life.

“Psychotic breakdowns.” Akechi continued, as if there had never been a pause, “I’d told him about them, how they worked, the likelihood of it transferring over to the real world. Too many mental shutdowns look suspicious, and sometimes unnecessary.”

_“A curse?”_

_“You can call it that. Instead of shutting down the workings of the brain, it targets the stability of the brain, emotional processing, decision making. Permanent instability, as far as I’m aware there is no cure.”_

_One eyebrow raised, doubt clearly written across the man’s features. Goro bit down on his anger._

_“And you’re sure this works?”_

_“I know my Persona,_ sir _.” Goro’s face remained perfectly impassive, yet in the corners of his mind, Loki smirked for him. “Why not allow me to demonstrate? Certainly death is a bit...obvious, should it occur too often?”_

_“Don’t get cocky with me, boy.” The man snapped, before searching his desk for a file, buried beneath other papers. Carelessly, he threw it to the end of the desk for Goro to pick up and read, “Fine, if it works perhaps I’ll consider using it more often. You have a week, and I expect results. Now go.”_

_It wasn’t until Goro had left, that he noted the file was only a page or so long. Clearly, one of unimportance._

_He allowed his own anger and irritation to fester, already thirsty for Mementos._

“He relied on my ability to perform psychotic breakdowns the same way he did to the mental shutdowns,” Even now, the patheticness of it all amused him, “I didn’t care either way- but psychotic breakdowns were always more entertaining.” That was an understatement, Loki had _thrived_ on them, an eagerness that didn’t simmer- not even when level-headed Robin Hood also became a part of Akechi’s arsenal. Each psychotic break became accompanied by a headache, the moment it hit tv news.

“Of course, after a while people started to figure out something was amiss. Too many incidents.” Akechi’s lip curled, “He was too focused on himself and his patrons.”

Akira could recall the amount of names read out at Shido’s trial. Countless CEO’s and well-established figureheads, shamed, disgraced by affiliation. Even if he wanted, Akira couldn’t remember the names- his head had been too clouded already- but he understood the reach Shido had once had. The amount of targets Akechi had been given. He felt distinctly nauseous.

“But nevertheless, he used the news reports to his advantage,” Akechi’s voice sounded bitter, resentful, “An excuse to keep me under closer eye, always watched, without even making the effort himself.”

Akira understood instantly. “Your detective title.”

Akechi’s face soured, “What better watchman than the public? The media? Everywhere I went, I would be recognised- unable to do anything against him, incase someone spotted me.” For a second, his face lifted, “Make no mistake, I did enjoy the admiration. The fans. But it was all _empty_. Meaningless. They were fans of a mere facade.” Fans of someone much more perfect than he.

Detective Prince Goro Akechi. Untarnished by suicidal mothers and unloving carers, free from flying fists and cruel words. That Goro Akechi was adored by all, flawless and strong. He had people who cared for him, who wanted him around.

And Akechi _hated_ him.

He hated the fake who smiled at him through the reflection of the camera lense, who wore his clothes and carried his name.

He hated that he was constantly reminded of everything he would never have.

The small rustle of leather interrupted his thoughts, looking up he met Akira’s gaze, open and concerned. He tried to ignore the pang in his chest, choosing instead to shrug, drawing his gaze back away.

“I got used to the attention before long, and manage to establish myself as a detective in the incidents. I kept suspicion from myself, from him, and for years that worked- everything that happened, I anticipated, planned for. Then there was a ‘change of heart’ on the news.”

Akira’s breath hitched.

He remembered the interviewed students on the TV, the outrage at Shujin. He avoided journalists that littered the streets around the school for _weeks_ , but still caught whispers about Kamoshida. His crimes. The frequent mentions of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts that littered the school halls.

He felt a sharp stab of longing at the memories.

“Everyone else was so eager to dismiss it as an incident, a one-off. I’m not as foolish.” Akechi frowned, far from the smug aura someone who knew him less may expect, “I’d investigated on my own but...there was so little evidence to go by- all I had was suspicion and links, which hardly stand for their own in court.”

Akechi shifted, accompanied by the soft crinkle of the sofa, “Naturally I had to confirm my suspicions first, considering the amount of Palaces there ar- _were_ , I was clueless about where to start.” A sigh, the next words feeling almost bitter to admit, “I got lucky.”

_The gaudy gold designs irritated him, even through the red-tinged lenses of his mask the bright hues burnt obnoxiously. Irritation uncoiled in his gut, hands clenched tightly at his side as he walked._

_For once we was grateful for the list of awaiting targets in Mementos. At the forefront of his mind, he felt Loki flex his claws eagerly, matching his sentiment._

_Ichiryusai Madarame’s Palace was, admittedly, not the worst he had to deal with- but it was certainly an eyesore. As was its ruler, but that was none of his business, yet._

_The loud bang of gunpowder froze him in his tracks._

_Checking-in on Palace Rulers was a dull, but necessary, task. The Black Mask had permission to walk their halls untouched by shadows or cognitive blockades- he was never a target of attack. And if the gunfire wasn’t aimed at him…._

_Unhesitatingly, Akechi rushed to the balcony of the second-floor, peering down on the art room below. It was instantly clear something was wrong._

_Where the showcase room was normally devoid of any activity, it was swarmed with hulking shadows, prowling the floor. But that was merely a blip on the map, a minor note, compared to what had really caught his eye._

_A group of masked figures in intricate costume, surrounding a small group of manifested shadows, various firearms pointed directly at their quivering figures. He continued to watch as they mercilessly slaughtered the terrified manifestations, and just as quickly melded back into the shadows. Unseen. Like Phantoms._

_Akechi’s lips curled into a dark smirk._

Akira felt his shoulders tense.

Of course he’d known the Black Mask had been there- Madarame’s Shadow had told them as much himself- but to think Akechi had been _right there_ and none of them had realised….

He wondered how many times Akechi had done the same thing, how many times they’d never noticed his presence, hidden and watching from beyond the shadows that seemed to cling to every Palace.

“You were all so coordinated,” Akira’s gaze switched to Akechi, to his distant gaze, saddened, “Together. Healing each other and protecting each other from attack, never a moment not in sync….” As if realising the wistfulness that had crept into his voice, Akechi’s tone became cold, uncaring, “I knew my primary suspicions had been correct.”

“...But you didn’t do anything about it?”

Akechi shrugged, voice carefully light, “I was curious, besides, what proof was there?”

Akira frowned, but refrained from calling out the blatant lie, instead leaning forward slightly, “But you knew we were going to change his heart- he was part of the Conspiracy, right? So why not stop us?”

Akira could see the faint smug smile on Akechi’s lips, “I’d pointed out my suspicions and I was ignored, I was hardly my business anymore. Besides,” His gaze flickered, catching Akira’s eye, spotting the sharp glint within them, “Why would _I_ object to watching some of his inner circle fall?”

Akechi couldn’t help how his faint smirk grew slightly, remembering Shido’s rising irritation, the tenseness that grew by the calling card. How he already saw that man crumbling, right before his eyes. How he was inadvertently allowing it to happen.

In turn, Akira felt his own mouth twitch upwards.

“I must admit though, before that day in the TV Station, I hadn’t an idea about your identities.” Almost contemplative, Akechi continued, “It truly was a stroke of chance,”

_The voices had stopped him still in the middle of the corridor, pulled him to hide around the corner. Voices he’d been fixated on for the past few weeks, that followed him wherever he went. Passing phrases, teasing comments, harsh demands._

_The voices of the Phantom Thieves. Just as close in reality as in the Metaverse, he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised._

_Those voices teased him to emerge from hiding, to see what those masks hid from him. He wanted to know, to meet them._

_A thrill raced up his spine as he turned the corner, smiling at them pleasantly, just as the Detective Prince would._

_He came face to face with Shujin Uniforms, and bit down on the pleasing rush that accompanied the realisation the Phantom Thieves would be here again. They were lacking in numbers, the cat-like monster and the tall lanky boy, but he didn’t entirely mind, not when he knew he’d finally found them._

_When they stood before him, so clueless as to his true identity, that he knew their own_

“Fate, I couldn’t help but feel.”

His voice was far away, but the sincerity made a slight heat rush to Akira’s face, “Especially as I kept seeing you, everywhere I went.”

Akechi had longed for those moments, found himself lingering at the train station with the hope of catching sight of Akira, visiting Leblanc as regularly as possible. Flickering hours where he’d truly felt like he’d forgotten he was Detective Prince Goro Akechi, or the ever-obedient Black Mask of the Metaverse.

For those moments, he was just a teenager. Enjoying late-night conversations over coffee, or partaking in witty back-and-forths while playing chess.

All the while, outside of their shared World, everything had been crumbling at the edges.

“The Medjed incident...that’s when they finally stopped underestimating the Phantom Thieves.” Akechi turned back away, “They assumed that your popularity would crumble after the deadline day came but...then their fake site was hacked. Even I was surprised,” Normally, he’d offer even a slight smile, but instead his expression grew heavier, “Everything became more intense after that.”

Akira’s face fell, he felt cold, “Okumura.”

A nod. “Everything went according to plan, in terms of the Mental Shutdown, your calling card….”

_Watching the Phantom Thieves in battle was captivating, that much Akechi would admit. They certainly had numerous exploitative weaknesses, separating them would be their downfall due to their single-natured Personas. But as a group, they moved in silent synchrony. Endless attacks hailing on the constant variation of robots._

_Truly, Kunikazu Okumura was pathetic._

_The flashing of a Persona change momentarily struck the disgusted scowl from Akechi’s face, Joker diving out of the way in a moments notice, returning with his own flashing strike of Electricity, Minutes ago, it had been Wind. Truly powerful, admirable. It was a shame that was wasted with the Phantom Thieves. But he couldn’t be thinking about that right now._

_Loki’s teeth were bared, staring down at Okumura, sat indolently in his chair, uncaring of how many lives had been undeservingly ended at the hand of his business and greed._

_As another round of robots faced the Phantom Thieves, Joker struck first, dark curse skills swarming them. Akechi felt confident the battle would end soon, and then, he would strike._

_He grit his teeth as the Shadow laughed, another robot falling to his Sacrifice Order._

“...His broadcast was seen everywhere. The owner of the production company made so himself,” One finger lightly traces circles on the leather, “You know what happened...everything flipped. Public opinion most notably so.”

The less-than hushed comments and voiced fears around Tokyo, the way Phantom Thief memorabilia disappeared from stores, the hate gaining on the Phansite. Akira remembered how many nights he would receive messages from Mishima, consequently how many times he urged the other boy to sleep.

He remembered how Haru feared her own empty home for weeks.

“None of that really jarred me but...how lost you had seemed.” Akechi’s shoulders tensed as he spoke`, “That....I’d expected it. But it still momentarily stunned me.”

How much Akechi saw himself reflected in those eyes, pretending it was fine because there was no other choice, but otherwise feeling like you’re falling...lost….

“I’d never wanted Sae to have a Palace.” Akira’s head turned to face him, the faint flicker of sympathy in those eyes, “She was one of the few in the department who listened to me, I’d seen her shadow before but...I should’ve tried something to keep her away from the Phantom Thief case, instead it put a target on her back.”

Makoto had expected her sister’s Palace, but that had done nothing to reassure her. They both remembered the raw determination Queen presented for those days in the Metaverse, Anat always hit just that bit harder.

“Joining your team...was new. I’d blackmailed my way in and yet, you all still accepted me.” Akechi knew there were exceptions to that, they both did, and yet he couldn’t help but revel in the flickers of belonging he’d felt during those short weeks, “It was...different, working as a team.” His voice was, again, somewhere far away.

_The safe room was alive with chatter, plates of curry being shared between the thieves, Akira the only one on his feet, mask pushed up into his fluffy mess of hair, pulling out a box from his pocket. None of the other thieves commented on it, assumingly normal routine._

_His gaze swept the room, eye tinged with a faint shadow-like yellow, focused- just like he’d seen during the infiltration._

_Finally, Akira’s gaze settled on him, and Akechi forced down the heavy gulp as Akira kneeled in the seat next to him._

_Up close, Akechi could see the exhaustion hanging under Akira’s eyes, the faint bruising on his skin, but before he could mention it, Akira was pulling something out._

_“Take this.”_

_A small pill lay in the hand of his scarlet glove, and Akechi was surprised to find he took the offered medication without hesitation._

_“Why-”_

_“Healing. Joker’s annoyingly fixated on it.” Futaba’s voice interrupted, her gaze still on her laptop screen, “Just let him get on with it, he’s like a Mother hen in here.”_

_Akechi heard Akira’s huff of indignation, and took the pill before the two ‘siblings’ could start something, Ryuji and the cat were bad enough._

_Instantly, Akira’s focus was back on him, looking rather pleased, until he looked closer, pushing up Akechi’s mask to get a better look. He tried not to shiver at the gentle touch, as a thumb traced his left cheekbone._

_“There’s still a bit of bruising, I think I still have some bandages on, gimme a sec…”_

_More rustling, heard over the voices of familiar bickering and teasing, Akechi couldn’t help the warmth that pooled in his stomach, especially not as Akira continued to fuss, attaching a decorated red bandage to his cheekbone with practiced ease, touch careful and light so as to not to hurt him in the process._

“...But then it ended.” His voice was low, hardly above a whisper.

Wordlessly, Akira shifted away slightly, not quite looking at him anymore. Akechi didn’t blame him.

“You were- I was supposed to-” He choked on his words, lungs tightening. He remembered the cold, empty corridor, how his shoes had echoed off the walls, the complete silence of his personas in his head. The unhesitating trust the innocent policeman guarding the door had in him.

How _broken_ Akira’s body was as it fell. Head framed with a halo of pooling blood, grey eyes that had been the first to truly _see_ him, now glazed over and empty.

“I-I _know_ that I- that I did,” Stammered words pushed themselves out, past his own haunting memories, “I watched you- I couldn’t _stop_ watching you-”

_The dull thud as Akira’s body made contact with the table, limp and lifeless. Still dressed in his normally impeccable Shujin uniform, now ripped and bloody, torn apart just like their owner._

“You-you were so broken, and it was- it was all- my- _fault_. You- you were,”

_He reached for one hand, lying outstretched. There was hardly any weight to it, let alone resistance, as Akechi manipulated the arm into place. Without its silencer, the gun fitted the scene perfectly._

“Dead.” The word came out choked, as though he had been dealt a hard punch to the abdomen. It accompanied the flurry of images in his head.

He received no reply, no acknowledgement. The silence between them hung heavy between them for a moment, and then, Akechi forced himself to look away from the barren wall opposite him, instead to the silence figure on the sofa.

Akira’s gaze was far away from him, directed to the corner of the coffee table, the only sign Akira had heard him was the fidgeting of his hands, how they occasionally clenched into fists, nails digging into the palm. Akechi knew better than to pull him away.

A fraction of a moment later, Akira blinked, his hands relaxing, but he still didn’t turn to look in Akechi’s direction, his gaze remained on that coffee table, occasionally flickering to his side as if in some attempt to make eye contact.

Akira spoke, only offering the faintest of assurances, unsure as to if he would be able to say anything more. “I wasn’t.”

“I-I know that now.” He still had no idea _how_ Akira had survived, but he knew it wasn’t the time to ask. In honesty, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear it. “For weeks it was...different.”

_Silence. Emptiness._

_Akechi caught himself more times than he cared to count lingering in the train station, making his way to Yongen, before remembering himself. Not even Robin had words of comfort in those times._

_He made himself busy with interviews and targets, careful to stay away from Shujin or any other Phantom Thief hotspot as he did so. Feelings of loss replaced with the release of gunfire in the Metaverse, with the maddening unleash of Loki’s Berserk ability._

_Every message with a target was a reminder of his real goal. The only thing that mattered._

“Everyone thought it had worked until...until I got a phone call one day. The targets, they were all important contributors to the Conspiracy,” Akira’s eyes finally drew away from the table, looking up in recognition. “Shido’s Palace...it’s not like normal Palaces. It can house other people’s Shadows, so when he suddenly wanted them gone, I knew-”

“They’d had a change of heart.” Akira’s voice cut him off, realising what had happened. This whole time, if only they had peacefully acquired the letters, then Akechi could never have known... _if only he’d been smarter, controlled the situation better_ ….

“And I knew exactly _who_ it was.” Akira’s gaze met Akechi’s own, a sort of warmth hiding in there, before his gaze turned cold, and he turned away, “I _had_ to know if I was right, so I’d gone straight to the Palace.”

Akira’s stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch, remembering the shadow looming overhead, the presence he’d recognised all too late.

From the corner of his eye, Akira caught the faint tremor of hands, the way Akechi seemed hardly even aware of them, his gaze somewhere much further away.

Akira kept his voice soft, careful not to let it waver, “Akechi...you don’t have to-”

“No.” The reply was sharp, “I-I want to.”

He caught the flickering gaze, the way shoulders fell slightly along with the grounding breath, and Akira relented. Shifting slightly, Akira pretended not to notice how tense they had both become, how desperately they tried not to lose themselves in memories, long-since repressed, and he listened.

“I hadn’t hesitated to go to the Engine Room, but when I saw the Cleaner….I knew I was too late.”

_The hulking figure of the Cleaner’s Shadow made Akechi’s throat burn with acid, only worsened by the accompanying sounds of battle, unmistakable cries for Personas hauntingly familiar. His opponents hidden from Akechi’s view._

_He couldn’t bring himself to move, frozen in wait for something (some_ one _) he had no means to anticipate._

_A voice at the back of his head, perhaps it was Loki, whispered that he never truly had._

_Unable to tear his eyes away, Akechi counted down the elements._

_Blinding electricity, closely followed by the smooth combination of fire and wind. Still nowhere near enough damage._

_He remembered the joy in their leader’s eyes, as he figured out that particular combo trick._

_Nuclear reactivity was hardly a blight upon the Shadow’s hardened armour, but the bitter ice that crept past its plating certainly made up for the error._

_Joker had always had a contingency in place for when elements failed to be effective._

_The faint glow of buffs, figures too distant and too hidden by the towering Shadow to be distinctive. The annoying little cat’s voice, yelling motivation._

_Akechi was hardly aware of his racing pulse in his ears._

_More ice, burning flames, all but a distraction now, pointless of notation, it didn’t matter._

_He felt himself lean forward at the sight of Psychokinesis, faintly aware of Robin reminding him not to lean too far, but it was the last of Akechi’s cares. Not now. Not when he could be moments away…._

_The next few minutes were agonising, vicious arks of pointed axes, bruising hits landed from steel knuckles, all insignificant. Unworthy of his attention, even now, as he felt Loki’s curl around his wrist- unable to tell if it was from shared excitement, or to keep him from falling- it didn’t matter._

_None of it mattered._

_Not when he saw the cutting strike of curse magic._

_Loki’s grip around his wrist tightened. Behind the helmet’s visor, Akechi’s eyes widened, and it took all he had not to let his legs crumple from underneath him._

“I acted brashly. I wasn’t thinking, _couldn’t_ think and then-” He faltered. Remembered the hopes he’d carried, how many of those hopes he’d unwittingly lumped in with the figure sat beside him, only to realise that all too late. “And then it all fell apart.”

Faintly, Akira grew aware of the light tremors in his hands, the haunting images that chased him for months, teasing at the edges of his walls. He tried to focus on the Akechi beside him, the one who was talking, not quite steadily, but talking.

“I don’t even know _why_ I jumped down from that rafter, or why I summoned Loki….” His voice was hollow, Akira wished he had the strength to reach out, just offer the slightest bit of comfort- “Everything was so confused, all lines of logic and thinking-”

He remembered the liberating release of Loki’s Berserk charm, how it teased at the beginnings and ends of his thoughts. Each debuff, the smallest glint on the enemy’s weapons- a devastating warning, a call to action.

It wasn’t until the charm lifted, Joker and his Thieves standing victorious, that Akechi felt the true moments of horror, disgust- _shame_.

“And-and even then, you were so forgiving-” His voice broke, hands still shaking, “It was so much, _so much_ , of what I’d hoped for, and I deserved _none_ of it.”

The hated in his voice came of no shock to Akira, but that didn’t stop the pain that stabbed at his heart.

“Akechi, no-”

“No, don’t- don’t even start, I don’t want to hear it-”

“No, _I_ don’t want to hear it!”

The yell froze Akechi mid-retort, turning to face Akira for what must have been the first time since he recalled the whole incident. Instantly, Akechi felt a small piece of him break at what stared back.

Normally perfect porcelain skin, splotched with patches of pink, matched by the water pooled in Akira’s clear eyes, no longer hidden by fake lenses. His whole frame was tense, shuddering. His gaze fell down, staring at his lap.

“For-for months, I never escaped the memories of that day. Th-the gunshots, the wall, our promise- all of it.” His breath was laboured. Unsteady. “Everytime I tried to go to sleep, all I saw was _you_ , lying there, ch-choking on your own blood. Or lying dead, and alone, on the other side of that wall. Even-even when I was in Juvie, alone, you were there. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat, because all I could think of- was you. Was everything that happened. So don’t, don’t you _dare_ try and tell me that you’re undeserving.”

The hammering in Akechi’s chest was driven away only by the fall of something from Akira’s eyes, splashing on the hands wove tight in his lap.

This time, Akechi didn’t waste a moment.

Before Akira could take the moment to furiously wipe away at the tears falling from his eyes, there was someone else there. Touch tenderly sweet, nowhere near as fleeting at Akira had once imagines Akechi to be. The touch lingered, present, and Akira found himself following the presence up, meeting Akechi’s watery gaze with his own.

For a moment, their silence fell heavy in the gap between them, and then, Akira swept Akechi into a hug, head buried somewhere in his shoulder.

“ _Please_.”

There were a thousand things he could be pleading for, and yet Akechi understood him completely, wholly, as he slowly wrapped his arms around Akira, his grip just as tight.

He didn’t care if Akira could hear his heartbeat racing in his chest, or feel the tears that were dampening his hoodie, because the warmth blossoming in his chest overpowered all that. For just a moment, none of the pain of their past years mattered- not as much as this one moment of reprieve.

He wondered if it would be selfish to want more moments like this.

He’d been punished for it once, afterall, how easy would it be, to lose again?

Akechi felt a comforting squeeze, and feared for the moments that promised to follow. The way Akira slowly peeled away, with Akechi forced to follow, felt like the final dagger in his back. That aching reminder, the all too familiar voice, _you don’t deserve this_.

Akechi took a moment to furiously wipe at what residual tears were left on his face, and from the corner of his eye spotted Akira doing the same, damp marks lingering on his right sleeve (just as they did over his right shoulder, hidden from direct view).

“S-Sorry, I didn’t mean to...you know, blow up like that.” Akira looked distinctly sheepish, and Akechi couldn’t help but shake his head furiously at the embarrassment.

“No! I mean...it’s okay. It...it means a lot. Thanks.” The words don’t feel even close to being enough to convey just how much it meant, but somehow Akira still understands, the smile that grows on his face being anything to go by.

But just as quick as the smile came, it fell, surrounded by uncertainty and caution, as Akira toyed with the end of his sleeve. A small weight settled in Akechi’s chest, sure of what question was sure to follow, the only details he had left out of his retelling.

“But...how did you survive? And why…” Akira’s gaze flickered away, back to his lap, “Why didn’t you come back?”

Akechi’s mouth went dry. The notion of someone wanting him to return….seemed almost implausible. Impossible to even consider. Ashamed, Akechi let his gaze fall away too.

“The cognitive me had really poor aim,” There were a thousand different way he could explain it, and yet pathetically, that was the easiest. “But mine was accurate- once he was dead and I was down, the other shadows left. After that...Robin and Loki got me out.”

_Akechi was hardly aware of the support holding him by the underarms, carrying him close against their body. Even the bulletwound, low on his abdomen, was becoming but a faint pain now._

_He wondered if he imagined the swinging of a door, the plush comfort of a bed under him, but as the world righted itself, and he dared open his eyes, the familiar sight of Shido’s safe rooms greeted him._

_“Now what? We’re still a considerable distance from the exit.”_

_“We’ll use the Navigator, as soon as he’s ready.”_

_Voices above him- or where they inside him?- bickered lightly, mindlessly throwing ideas between themselves. Akechi tried to block them out, push it away. He already had a headache, or maybe they were the headache, it was hard to tell- but either way, he wanted silence right now._

_“What about the bullet? He can’t take that out on his own.”_

_“My talons might be enough-”_

_“NO-”_

_“It’s our only option, at this point- so either you let him die, or let me have a try.”_

_A sigh. Then blissful silence. Akechi finally let himself try to rest, accepting the looming darkness settling in his mind and then-_

_Pain._

_Blinding pain._

_Ripping through his abdomen, he couldn’t control the helpless scream that tore from his throat, the voices were back in an instant._

_“Sh, no it’s okay, it’s okay, I know it hurt but just wait-”_

_Overlapping in their reassurances of making this quick were blind attempts at soothing him- and Akechi clung to it as best he could, for just a moment longer- a moment longer…_

“I had to do most of the first aid myself, luckily my apartment wasn’t too far away.” Near crawling back home in the dim of the night, knowing he wouldn’t even be able to stay long once he arrived- it hadn’t been easy. Especially not when his personas were in his head, begging and pleading for him to return to the Phantom Thieves, to find Akira and _talk_. Re-surfacing all his guilt, wallowing in shame for days because how could he face any of them, after what he had done?

Moving out of main-city Tokyo was as much of a statement as he could make, as well as a necessary one.

Even if his Personas couldn’t complain to him about it for long.

“Returning would have been dangerous, I was a wanted man. A noticeable celebrity- I had no other choice.” The words felt robotic even to him, but Akira didn’t argue- so he supposed that was a victory. At least, for now.

Akechi reached for his coffee. It was still disgustingly bitter, not only amplified by the fact he drink had turned cold as they talked- but he continued to drink anyway.

Akira watched from the corner of his eye, and as he mug was set back down, he spoke.

“Do you regret it?”

He should have seen that one coming, planned an answer. A perfect response.

And yet, the very notion of that felt _wrong_ here, right now. Unfaithful.

“There were times, occasions, that I regret,” _Akira, bloody and broken, staring up the barrel of the gun, eyes hazed and unclear_ , “But mostly….no. Most of the targets...they weren’t good people, I’ve been inside their desires, met their shadows- they deserved what they got, and Shido would have too. Desires can manifest again, distortion isn’t a one time thing...I don’t regret it.”

Silence hung heavy between them, Akechi waited for the moment he always knew would arrive if he’d ever told Akira the truth. Waited for the cruel words, the judgement, then leaving him….

But instead, Akira nodded.

“I suppose, I don’t agree with you but...I think I can still understand.”

Akechi would swear that just for a moment, his heart stopped.

“A lot of them, they weren’t good or decent people….I still don’t think they deserved death, or to have their minds ruined, but I still understand.”

It was more than Akechi could have ever hoped for. Distantly, he wondered if he ever really could have talk Akira the truth, one way or another. If there was a world where perhaps they could have….

He remembered the fierce passion Akira had when he’d spoken of the Phantom Thieves, of the justice system entirely, and reminded himself he was being foolish.

“Thank you.”

No words were needed, not when Akira looked at him so knowingly, with the faintest incline of the head and small smile. It was Akechi’s turn to ruin the moment, (the petty side of him _delighted_ in, but there was another part that lived in fear, bringing up his darkest moment, their worst shared tale).

“But I must ask,” Akechi took a deep breath, steeling himself, he had to know. Akira tilted his head, “How did you know?”

In a flash, the meaning of the question registered, and where Akechi had expected a dark look of hatred to cross Akira’s face, instead there was one of mischievous amusement.

“Back at the TV station, you gave yourself away.”

Akechi froze, utter bafflement written clearly across his face, “What?”

It was impossible, impossible Akira could have known the entire time and said nothing…

“When you eavesdropped? Morgana was the only one who referred to a ‘Pancake-looking place’ and then you asked if we were going to go have pancakes- you only could’ve known that if you were going to the Metaverse.”

Akechi felt distinctly sick, “So that means, the entire time…”

“If it helps, technically since Kaneshiro’s Palace? Before then we knew there was a Palace user, but we didn’t know what they were up to….”

The whole time, Akira knew. They all knew. They’d seen past his ‘Detective Prince’ facade and known how many lives he’d ruined…everything had been a lie.

And yet, Akechi remembered the nights of genuine joy in Akira’s eyes as they played chess, the hope in his eyes as they had offered for Akechi to join them, that fateful day in the Engine Room. He remembered Robin and Loki’s words, how they’d urged him to chase those bonds. How they always seemed content when Akechi was at Leblanc...

Perhaps it was something further for him to consider.

“So, when you joined our team, we already had a plan in place.” Akira shrugged, but it was obvious he was leaving details out- for either his own benefit or Akechi’s, it was hard to tell, but the vague description and fiddling of his hands gave him away.

“And, what was that plan?”

“We used the Metaverse. Using my phone, an app sent you to the Metaverse when you were- when you bumped into Sae, after she showed you the phone the app activated and you were sent to the Metaverse.” There was a heavy weight settling in Akechi’s chest that only partly had to do with the hatred he had for that day, a gaping hole in Akira’s story.

“But...to do that...you would’ve had to know about the underground rooms, the entire plan, beforehand.”

Akira shifted nervously, and Akechi began to feel vaguely sick.

“Futaba planted a bug on your phone just before we all went into Sae’s Palace.” Akechi went cold, “That’s how we found out.”

They’d been listening to his calls.

His contacts with Shido.

One call after another ran itself in a loop through his head, meetings and orders. Work and school. Shido….

The worst call of all, the one that signed Akira’s fate, and it had been all his fault.

And they all _knew_.

He felt the bile creeping up his throat.

Not even his memories of being with the Phantom Thieves were safe from his own vile distortions. He’d even managed to ruin that- the entire time, their snack sharing in the safe rooms, Akira healing everyone whenever he could, the quips in battle- the whole time, they knew he was going to kill their beloved leader.

And they still let him join, ready with a plan to betray him.

Perhaps that’s what he deserved. His own justice.

“We knew what was going to happen so...we planned around it.”

_Akira didn’t see, or at least he pretended not to see, the dubious looks sent after Akechi. Everytime their leader had his back turned, there was a burning glare piercing his back, watching his every action._

_The Phantom Thieves didn’t trust Crow, that much was obvious._

_Akechi pretended it didn’t sting, the way they got that bit too tense when Crow and Joker were too close, how they always watched him far closer than they did any other teammate._

_Akechi rationalised it in his head, afterall he did blackmail his way onto the team (like they would ever accept him under any honest circumstances), and he was new. It was completely normal to regard new members with dubious trust, to not trust him around their leader. Completely normal to hesitate when Crow proposed any potential idea, to try doubt it in any way possible, too wary of him to blindly trust._

_He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter, not when Joker was so openly trusting of him, ready to listen to his proposed ideas. Even if he didn’t think he deserved any of it._

The Phantom Thieves had been right to distrust him. To not let him get too close.

“By the time we sent the calling card, we knew what to expect.”

There was a careful tenseness to Akira’s voice, a tension in his shoulders, something that whispered the ‘we’ was not as communal as it was supposed to be.

Akechi remembered the violent bruising, the vulnerable unsteadiness that Akira had regarded him with. How many needles littered the floor as he entered. The Phantom Thieves would never have allowed such things to happen to their precious leader.

But foolhardy, self-sacrificing Akira?

He wouldn’t hesitate.

“And everything...everything went according to plan. Everyone thought I was dead, hiding away hadn’t been easy though…”

_The empty space on the platform where_ he _always stood….the smoothie stand he’d been so fond of...coffee stalls and shujin uniforms everywhere._

_All he had left was memories._

“We’d gotten Shido’s name from one of the bugged phone calls.”

Akira’s voice was enough to pull Akechi away from memories he’d tried to repress, those dark weeks following the night in the Interrogation room. He forced his gaze to fall on Akira, to focus.

“You know how it goes from there, I guess, know about the Palace....” Akira shifted, leather creaking slightly under him as he did so, “If it helps, we tried to get the letters peacefully.”

Akechi felt himself smile, despite the pit in his gut that knew Akira was purposefully not going into detail, “The Phantom Thieves never were ones for subtlety though.”

Akira’s lips twitched slightly, his frame becoming less tense, and Akechi couldn’t help the momentary flicker of relief that accompanied the lessening of awkwardness.

“I saw the ‘Calling Card’. It certainly made a statement.”

Wide eyes met his own gaze as Akira’s head whipped around to face him, disbelief written plainly across it. “You saw that?”

“It was broadcast everywhere, rather hard to miss.”

This time he was sure, there was a smile on Akira’s face. Undoubtedly, a fond memory. It was nice, Akira was reliving too many bad memories right now, any attempt to balance it out was worthwhile.

“I spend days perfecting my persona arsenal, you know?” Akira’s confession was quiet, almost hesitant. Akechi leaned slightly closer, and was surprised to see that, again, there was a misty haze in Akira’s eyes, the threat of tears, “I-I wanted to do it perfectly, I wanted Shido to truly _repent_ ….I wanted to for you.” The final words were hardly above a whisper, but Akechi caught them all the same.

Weeks telling himself his ‘death’ was for the best, that Robin and Loki were wrong, he didn’t need the Phantom Thieves or, more importantly, they didn’t need him.

Akechi could deal with the wounds and injuries alone, he always had, afterall. And if he woke up in the middle of the night from yet another nightmare, then who was there to care?

The whole time, he’d been so certain he was correct, that he understood.

And yet again Akira Kurusu tears apart all his expectations. As gentle and honest as he always was.

“He..he apologised. Not just in real life, his shadow- his shadow truly felt remorse. He suffered, he repented, he was _sorry-_ ”

Momentarily, Akechi wondered why his vision had become blurred, why Akira was but a haze in his sight, until he felt a warm drop fall onto his crossed hands. Tears.

There was a tightness in his chest, “Akira, thank yo-”

“No.” Furiously, Akira shook his head, “No, I don’t deserve that. Don’t be grateful, I missed up, I messed up so badly….”

Akechi wiped at his own eyes, frowning slightly, “What? Akira, no, you did everything-”

“The public didn’t believe us.” His words were back to being cold. Closed-off. Akechi was used to such tones, but normally it was from his own mouth. “They’d become distorted and it was all my fault. I should’ve have realised sooner, fixed it somehow-”

“Distorted?” That word was a knee-jerk reaction to them both by now, and Akechi wasn’t sure how he felt about it being used in this context.

At the realisation he was going to have to explain everything, Akira had become stone-cold tense, even worse than when they were discussing Shido, or Akechi’s sacrifice. He even refused to make eye-contact.

“I don’t- I _can’t_ \- it’s kinda hard to explain.”

Akechi knew that wasn’t why Akira was so reluctant to talk about it, but he didn’t argue- there would be a time for that, and this wasn’t it, so instead, he understood. “Just share whatever you can.”

A deep breath. A slow nod. Akira still wouldn’t make eye contact, but he seemed slightly less tense, his gaze more distant. Akechi wasn’t sure it was an improvement, but he would take it.

“I don’t know if you had the same experience as me- wielding multiple personas- but sometimes-sometimes, I’d visit this place in my sleep, where I could manage my Personas and there was a manager of the place, called Igor, who helped me, offered guidance. He used to warn me about ruin,” A slight shiver, hardly noticeable to anyone who wasn’t Akechi, who wasn’t all too familiar with the signs, “I’d trusted him.”

Something about the words stuck a cord with Akechi. He certainly remembered having dreams that never felt quite false before, but all he could recall was darkness and a voice. Not quite the same thing.

But ruin...ruin sounded familiar.

“Turns out the entire time this God has been masquerading as Igor...he was a god of corruption. Control. He was the reason the public were all so distorted.”

A chill swept down Akechi’s spine at the mere implications of such power, such dominion over the public cognition.

There was a haunting in Akira’s eyes, something he was leaving out, but Akechi didn’t push. Not now.

“We’d tried to take him down- he’d fused Mementos with Tokyo, I don’t know if you were still here for that-”

He wasn’t.

Regret and guilt clogged his own throat. If only he’d been there, hadn’t run away like such a coward….

“It took a few....encounters, but when we finally got to him, he revealed himself to us. Yaldabaoth.” The name pulled at something in the back of Akechi’s mind, something he’d long since repressed, it wasn’t the time to go in search of that clue, “He was powerful but...there was a moment when we got human cognition back, it was all thanks to Morgana.”

A small smile flitted across Akira’s face, the sight was enough to reassure Akechi.

“Everyone believed in us, had their hopes in us so…using that, I summoned a new Persona.” As if in reminisce, a comforted smile slipped across Akira’s features. Akechi recognised it, it was the same smile he wore when he thought of Loki or Robin. “Satanael. He put a bullet festered from human hope through Yaldabaoth and….it was over.”

Satanael.

What a poetically perfect fit.

“He’d been watching us- _us_ \- for so long, manipulating everything since maybe before we even met, but now he’s gone.” For the first time since he began the retelling, Akira’s eyes flickered to Akechi. There was an emotion in there, something only they could both share.

Understanding.

“The after that...things returned to normal. There was no Metaverse, it was destroyed along with Yaldabaoth, but other than that the world was normal again.”

A stabbing ache at the reminder of the world they’d lost, that they could never get back. Of course, Akechi understood, but he still missed his Persona’s painfully…

“And that was it? After everything was over, you all just went back to a normal life.” His words seemed unrealistic, even to him.

Besides, Akechi was no fool, the removal of cognitive distortions didn’t remove the Phantom Thieves’ past actions, nor their link to Akira.

Body language answered his question before Akira could so much as open his mouth, with the awkward fidgeting that was now quite the familiar sight.

“There was still investigations going on so, I handed myself in, got sent to Solitary.”

Despite the careful lightness to his voice, there was a fear in his eyes, something there he hadn’t quite recovered from.

Although, there was much neither of them had recovered from.

Frustration poured into his veins at Akira’s words, his actions. Solitary was no pleasant place to be, and that last thing the younger teen needed was _that_ , to think he had continued to needlessly sacrifice himself just for his teammates was so mindless.

But, he supposed, if anyone else understood the weight, the necessity, of sacrifice- it was him.

“Akira-”

“I was fine. Everyone all worked together to get me out, I hardly spent two months in there.” Akechi supposed that was supposed to reassure him, it would with anyone else.

But this wasn’t the time to pick out anything else, not when he had a more burning question on his mind.

“You got back to Tokyo...so why leave?”

It was a half-answered question in itself. Akechi saw the familiar dark circles matched on Akira’s face, half a year of too-many responsibilities and lives on his shoulders finally taking their toll, with an empty gap now left in your mind where Personas once lingered.

“I needed the time away, everything was...too much.” Akira felt comfortable to leave it at that. Despite their differences in the past, Akechi was the only one he felt could truly understand. They’d always shared that.

The statement left them in silence for a moment, everything in the past year, their differences, their traumas, and yet somehow they’d ended up here.

It felt nice, almost.

No pretences, no ulterior motives. Finally able to enjoy eachothers company honestly, and entirely.

Of course, they’d both left much out- the other knew that much, a shared understanding, a promise of honesty someday. Maybe when they felt less damaged, less broken, by what they’d encountered.

Neither of them reached for their coffees, which had undoubtedly become cold by now. The rain was no longer lashing against the windows, but when it stopped neither of them could say.

All that was left was them, a pair, Goro and Akira.

The silence hung heavy between them, neither sure of what to say, the same question praying on both their minds, until Akira finally turned, Akechi unconsciously matching him.

“So, what now?”

That chance encounter hours ago was of no control of some greater God, it was an occurance of their own hand. Made for them. And now, they had something to make of it.

Akira had run from Tokyo, from countless people who cared for him, for some desertedly quiet city outskirts. Akechi wondered just how much he wanted to return. How much he feared about returning, spending days no longer as their leader or confidant, but as a friend.

Akechi could understand that, and a warmth spread in his chest as he realised that maybe, just _maybe_ , he was an exception to that fear.

Afterall, where was the fear of expectation, when someone else understood so much already?

Akira stared right back at him, both of them lost to a list of possibilities, open doors they could finally take for their own.

Tokyo would be the obvious answer. Return to life as though neither of them had ever disappeared; fake smiles, pretend to ignore the lingering memories and nightmares that plagued them. Hide it, as though they had never left.

Akira could always leave Akechi for his friends, but he caught the weight of Akira’s gaze, and something in him warmed at the realisation that maybe he was _wanted_ in return. There was a firmness to his eyes, the way he’d held on to Akechi so tightly when he’d cried, that they both knew it would be hard to separate.

And secretly, Akira didn’t want to. Not when someone else finally could sympathise with everything he’d experienced. He didn’t want to lose that, or Akechi. Not again.

Which, of course, only left one final option.

Stay.

Hide out, together.

Nobody would look for them here, in such a peaceful town, it would at least give them the time they need. To work past the nightmares and the flashbacks, to learn how to handle them. There were still so many barriers between them, ones neither teen were comfortable enough to break down. This could be their chance at a solution.

Options swam in both their heads, dizzying with their weight.

Then, slowly, Akechi smiled. He leaned forward slightly, and his next words sent Akira into returning the wide smile with honest joy.

“Want another coffee?”

The didn’t have to decide now, they had the time.

Together, they’d figure it out.


End file.
